Catastrophes and the Cure
by jasperose
Summary: But now it's different.  Now you two are strangers in a sea of familiar, drifting alone and cold.  You miss her so much, but you don't think she feels the same.  Everything has changed. set during s4, Breyton.


Catastrophe and the Cure.

The door clicks shut quietly, and you flinch. It's such a harsh and unforgiving noise, slicing through the silence brutally. It feels like the crack of a whip against tender flesh, ripping and tearing you apart. You don't think you've ever felt this broken this shattered this cold.

The sky outside is dark and looming. You think it's fitting. With a lingering glance at the heavy door you turn and stare at the night sky. The stars are hiding behind a cover of oppressing clouds, stolen away from your wondering eyes for the moment. You wish they'd come back. You miss them.

Actually, if you're being honest with yourself, you miss her. You always will, you always will. She was your very best friend, she was with you through even your hardest days, and suddenly she's gone. Suddenly, you're facing the world alone, when all you want is to curl up in her familiar bed, the deep red of her walls soothing you into a peaceful slumber, her steady breathing and the soft melodies of her music the only other sounds in your world you've created together.

But now, now it's different. Now, you two are strangers in a sea of familiar, drifting alone and cold. You miss her so much, but you don't think she feels the same. Everything has changed.

Heading quickly down the path from the house, you spare a glance at the strange house of the boy you met only hours before. It's big, with a heavy black door and a large bay window. All the lights are off, which makes sense as it's nearing four in the morning. You think you're still a little drunk, but the cool night air and recent events have succeeded in sobering you up some. You turn from the path leading from his house and walk quickly down the sidewalk, hoping your house is in this direction.

You don't actually know where you are. Everything happened so fast, in such a drunken blur, that you're not even sure you're still in Tree Hill. Leaving the bar is fuzzy, but you vaguely recall getting into a bright yellow cab and speeding away while the lips of some currently nameless guy trailed hot, wet kisses down your neck. Then suddenly you're up against a wall, the guy's lips now pressing tightly against your own as his tongue swirls around in your mouth. The transition from the cab to the house is lost on you.

A swirl of sheets and clothing and sweat and suddenly the guy is fast asleep to your right and you're left lying naked in the sheets, groggy and feeling nauseous. And that brings you to right now, clutching your jacket tight around your body as you hurry down the deserted street in an attempt to get as far away from yourself as possible.

She's on your mind, again. It's a rare moment when she's not, actually. Her laugh, her smile, the way a song can completely change her mood. You know her so well it's as if you two share a mind at times. You wish things were like that again, but you know it's not likely. Your chest feels tight and your eyes sting.

The horizon is lightening as you continuing walking. Your head is throbbing and your eyes are burning and all you want is to curl up in her bed but you're so far from that it hurts. Your feet are aching in your heels, so you lean down and peel them off.

The sidewalk is cold against your bare feet, but that's fine by you. Lately, all you've felt is cold. The only way to warm up again is to drink yourself into drunken mistakes, making up for the hole in your chest by filling yourself with alcohol and lust-filled trysts. It works for a moment, but then suddenly you're lying in an unknown bed with a heavy chest and a bad taste in your mouth. You're cold again.

After walking for too long, you reach into your bag and pull out your phone. The glowing digital numbers let you know that it's nearly five in the morning. You sigh and stop, looking around for a familiar landmark. Far off to your right, you see what looks like a park, though it's awfully hard to tell in the current early morning fog and through bleary, sleep-deprived eyes. Deciding it's better than nothing, you wander toward it, clutching your torso a little tighter.

It's farther away than you originally thought, and it takes a good twenty minutes before you can fully make out the familiar contours of the river court. You sigh in relief, thankful that you finally, finally know where you are. Approaching the recognizable old court, you feel your heart thump heavily as you remember that time so long ago when she was still your other half and Lucas Scott had never existed.

Then the game on the river court between the Scott brothers took place, and everything was changed. You want to blame it all on him, let someone else take the guilt and responsibility. But you know it wasn't just him, it was all of you. It was you and him and her and together you three made a triangle that ruptured the original fabric of your larger-than-life friendship with the girl that meant more to you than anything else in the world.

You reach the bleachers and sit down, shivering in the chill of early morning in Tree Hill. You sit and think about everything that's happened, and it makes your eyes burn again and your chest constrict painfully and you don't think you can breathe you don't think you can make it. You need her in your life, because without her who do you have? It pains you to realise that without her, you have no one.

Your parents are gone, Lucas is gone, Haley and Nathan and Mouth, gone gone gone. They don't mean a fraction of what she means to you. You know that's a harsh thing to think, because they've all been there for you through thick and thin, but it's the truth. None of them hold a candle to her. None of them have seen you at your most vulnerable, seen you with tears streaming down your cheeks and all your walls down. None of them have seen you at your worst, but she has. She's always been there, just like you were always there for her. Until it all went to shit.

A loud thump-thump wakes you from your reverie. You look up sharply, startled, and come face to face with the cause of all this loss. Lucas Scott stares back at you, slowly tugging earphones from his ears and stilling the basketball he was previously bouncing on the concrete.

"Brooke?" His eyes are squinting at you and you can't help but smirk. He's always so broody.

"Lucas," you reply, pushing yourself up after replacing your shoes and walking over to him. "Good morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be on my way." You keep on past him, not turning around or waving as you try not to cry.

"Wait—Brooke, wait!" You hear the pad of his feet against the pavement and suddenly he's gripping your arm and turning you around. Always so meddling, Lucas Scott.

"What are you doing here? It's six in the morning." He squints at you some more, studying your face, taking in your make-up and disheveled hair. "Have…have you even been home yet?"

You feel yourself blush, but you refuse to look away. "Unfortunately, I got a little tied up with something last night and was unable to make it home. But now I'm just gonna get on that, y'know, so…bye…" You attempt to pull away from him, all you want is to be home and out of these clothes that smell of cologne and mistakes, but he's not about to make it that easy.

"Brooke…what happened?" Those blue eyes you used to adore are boring into your own hazel ones, making you feel naked and nervous. You shrug your shoulders, flicking your fringe out of your eyes.

"Nothing, Luke. Listen, I'm really tired, and we've got school in a couple of hours, so instead of hanging out here with you like I so desperately want to, I'm gonna head home. K?" You manage to squirm out of his grasp and place a cold hand on your hip, cocking it slightly to give the impression of cool, confidant, and sassy head cheerleader rather than tired, used, and defeated little girl. It works, for the moment, and Lucas nods before looking past you.

"Hey, want a ride?" His eyes are back on you again, a small friendly smile playing at his lips. If you're honest with yourself, you'll admit that you miss Lucas, though not in the way you miss her. After your tearful confrontation at Naley's wedding and subsequent fight with her, you realised something very important.

"I'd love one, actually." You flash him your patented dimpled grin and fall in step beside him. "Thanks, Lucas." Quietly, so as not to draw too much attention to yourself, but he hears. A simple nod and a small smile and you're on your way home.

The house is large and looming. Giving Luke a quick wave, you run up the steps and into the house you share with Rachel, pushing the door open quietly and trudging into the bathroom. The water of the shower is scalding, but you want it like that. It's so deliciously painful and you relish in the sting of the water as it hits your freezing back. You shut your eyes tight and let yourself think of her, of life before she was gone.

It was easier, you think. Easier, and happier, and brighter. She made it that way, by smiling and joking and brooding and drawing. She made _you _that way. Now, you're one of those typical high school girls who put on a mask each morning and don't take it off until you're completely alone, trembling in your solitude.

Scrubbing at your skin until it's red and raw, you try desperately to get the foggy memories of last night out of your mind and off of your skin. You don't know his name, you don't know his age, and you don't know how you've lasted so long without her.

Rachel is awake when you creep into the bedroom. She grins knowingly at you from her place on the bed before raising an eyebrow.

"G'morning, skank," she greets, her ever-present smirk pronounced.

You flash a grin and wink. "Heya, whore, have you had breakfast?"

Rachel shakes her head, hopping out of her bed and sauntering over to you, smacking your bum as she goes. "Nope. Let's pick some up on the way, k? Hurry that fat ass up, Davis."

You roll your eyes and swat at her retreating backside, waiting until she's out of the bedroom you share to let the fake smile drop and the loss to return. You're growing to love Rachel, you really are, but next to her, she's nothing. She's not even a blip on your radar. That makes you sad, because if it weren't for her, you and Rachel could be best friends. You should be, but because of her you keep your heart hidden. You think it's lonely.

School is the usual medley of faces and voices all blurring together. You go to your locker, both dreading and anticipating the moment you see her. Lingering with your eyes surreptitiously scanning the halls, you wait with bated breath until she trudges into the hall, her typical leather jacket hanging over her slender shoulders. Your breath hitches and your heartbeat quickens and it's her, it's only her you think you're saved you're grounded she's pulled you from the swirling waters you've been drowning in you've never been so happy you've never felt so

"Can I help you?" Her voice, devoid of emotion yet still dripping with disdain, assaults your ears. It's no longer the melodic dream you remember, and you inwardly flinch.

"What, like you helped yourself to my boyfriend? No, I'm good." You fix her with a glare, hoping she'll see just how much it hurts you to do so, before slamming your locker shut and heading to your first class. Each step you take feels like a thousand miles, you want to turn back around and tell her "I miss you I need you you're the best part of me" but you don't.

The rest of the day passes you by, and suddenly you're on your way to cheer practice. You hate it you love it you dread it you cherish it and there she is. Her curly blonde hair shines under the fluorescents, her hands moving animatedly as she talks to Haley. You watch her for a quiet moment, pretending it's you she's regaling with tales of frivolity and laughter, before shaking your head and reminding yourself of where you are.

"Hey, bitch." A slap on the bum and an arm through yours and Rachel Gattina has arrived. You shake your head and allow a small grin to grace your lips before returning the greeting.

"Hey, slut. You look like shit."

She smirks at you, knowing full well she looks anything but, and looks you up and down. "Right back atcha, kid."

You laugh, and you notice that she looks your way. A thrill shoots up your spine and your heartbeat accelerates. You catch her eye. You're caught in space in time the whole world could stop please won't you stop I miss you every day but of course of course the show must go on and the world must keep spinning. She looks away with a frown and you linger on her slender frame. Rachel's arm remains slung over your shoulders.

Practice is torture. You can't keep your eyes off of her, but you can't stand to see her. You begin to take your frustration out on the team, berating them for the slightest mistakes, turning on them in an instant.

"For God's sake, Bevin, I knew you were slow, but I had no _idea _you could be this dense!" You shout at the girl, ignoring the flash of hurt in her eyes. "Now get up and _pay attention, _it's not rocket science."

She nods solemnly and pushes herself up off the ground, avoiding your eyes as a blush spreads across her cheeks. She's embarrassed; she knows she's not the smartest girl around, and it hurts her to have it pointed out, as you knew. You feel a twinge of remorse, but then your eyes land on her again.

"Okay, so if you're all ready to get off your asses and actually _practice, _that would be just spectacular." You roll your eyes and turn to begin the count when a voice echoes out through the gym.

"Maybe if our captain wasn't being such a tyrannical bitch, things would be running more smoothly." You know that voice, you'd know it anywhere. Since that day in her bedroom, with the shouting and the tears and the slap, it's been the only voice you've heard from her.

"Do you have a problem with the way I'm running my squad?" You throw a glare over your shoulder as you speak. "No one's making you stay, Sawyer."

You begin to count out again, but she just won't let up.

"I do have a problem, yeah. But it's not with your captaining abilities, it's with you, you self-righteous bitch." You freeze at her words, allowing them to slam into your back with enough force to knock the wind out of you. Turning slowly, you meet her glare steadily while trying to breathe normally.

"Say that to my face, you no-good tramp." Your insults come out sounding harsh and angry, but all you really mean is, "I miss you every moment of every day."

Anger flashes in her eyes, her beautiful eyes, and she steps forward angrily so she's right in front of you. "I said I have a problem with you," her eyes are on fire, "you self-righteous bitch." She's right there, so close you can smell her shampoo and see the faint scar on her eyebrow from that time she tripped in your backyard. You're drawn to her, she's intoxicating she's beautiful she's so far away.

"This works perfectly then, doesn't it, seeing as I have a problem with you, you vapid whore." Her eyes flash again, but you don't back off, not when you have her right there.

She narrows her eyes, stepping closer still. "You know, I can't tell you how much my life has improved since I cut you out of it." Whispers that cut like knives. You flinch and she notices, a dark smirk on her lips. "You're nothing to me, Brooke Davis; nothing but some sleazy girl I used to know."

You can't breathe. You can't even think, her words hitting over and over, swirling angrily in your mind until you're choking on them. She knows she's won, she knows you've been fatally hit, and she steps back, still smirking.

You stare at her, your eyes wide and imploring. She meets your gaze, sure and steady. She never missed you, she never thought about you, she never wondered what you were doing, she never even cared. You can't believe it, you won't believe it, but right now all you need to do is get out of that gym, out of that heavy place of cutting words and stupid smirks, so you turn and walk quickly away. You speed your walk to a jog, then a full-out sprint as you struggle to escape.

Heavy footsteps behind you make you run faster. They follow, even through the quad and into the parking lot. You can't find your car, you don't know where your keys are, so you keep running, across the street and into the park.

Collapsing onto the grass, you take a huge gulp of air and try to stop the tears from falling. The footsteps behind you slow, until they're silent. You don't bother to look up, instead sitting back on your haunches and staring out at the trees. A familiar body presses into your side as they lean into you, their breathing more even than your own.

"She's a scrawny bitch with no ass. You're better off without her." Rachel wraps an arm around your shaking shoulders, trying to ease your pain. You shake your head at her attempt.

Neither of you speak for a long time, instead just sit in the grass and breathe. Tears flow from your eyes, dripping down your cheeks and over your lips before falling into your lap. Your hands dig into the soil as you struggle to regain some semblance of calm.

"She's everything." It's been ages since either of you spoke. Your raspy confession breaks the silence unexpectedly, and Rachel squeezes your shoulders tighter. "She's everything, Rachel."

Rachel sighs and brushes your hair back, her fingers curling a strand around your ear. "I know, Brooke. I'm so sorry." You nod your head, shutting your eyes tight. You're sorry, too.

"Let's get you home, k?" Rachel helps you up, tucking you into her side as you walk back to the parking lot. She unlocks her car and gently nudges you inside, placing your bag at your feet and getting in herself. She turns the key, and the radio comes to life. Broken Social Scene trickles through the airwaves, and you can't keep the tears back again. Rachel sighs and drives away, shooting you glances every so often. You ignore her, instead focusing on the song and wishing more than anything it didn't hold such meaning.

You lie in bed awake, your thoughts constantly replaying her words, her eyes, the look on her face. It's barely past eleven, but you're already in bed. You can't stop thinking about it, you have been for the past few hours, and you decide that, no. That can't be it. That's not it, and you'll be damned if she gets the last word. You push back your covers and slip out of the bed, grabbing your bag and heading out the door. She's going to listen to you, dammit, even if you have to shout and scream and wake up the whole damn neighbourhood.

Her house is dark, save for her room. You've been sitting in your car for nearly forty-five minutes, just staring at her window and arguing internally with yourself. Before you can convince yourself further that this is a stupid idea, you unclick your seatbelt and open your door, stepping out into the crisp night air. The walk up to her door seems endless, but in what seems like no time at all you're right in front of it, your finger poised over the doorbell.

"Push it. Push it, Brooke. Do it now. You're Brooke Davis. Push the doorbell." You glare at your finger. "Do it."

The sound reverberates throughout the house and you hold your breath, squinching your eyes in nervous anticipation. You hear someone stumble on their way down the stairs, cursing loudly as they stub their toe. Your stomach knots uncomfortably.

The door swings open, and there she is. Ruffled, wearing a Tegan & Sara t-shirt and boxer shorts, pen in hand, and looking more beautiful than you remember. She stares at you, a puzzled look turning quickly into one of distaste. "What are you doing here?"

You take a deep breath, never looking away from her face. You think you have this planned out, but everything you had thought to say has gone rushing out of your head just in time for you to look like an idiot. "I—" you stutter before shutting your mouth quickly and looking down at your feet.

She scoffs before reaching for the door. "You're pathetic, Brooke. Get off my porch." She moves to close the door, but your arm shoots out and stops it. She startles, giving you a look of confusion, but you ignore her.

"Don't you dare tell me I never meant anything to you, Peyton." Your voice is low, and raspier than usual. She continues to stare at you. "Don't you _dare _imply that our friendship was nothing more than an adolescent mistake, because you and I both know it was way more than that. _We _were way more."

Her brow furrowed, Peyton opens her mouth to answer, but you don't let her. "When you and Lucas snuck around behind my back the first time, that hurt, Peyton, that really fucking hurt. He was my boyfriend, but you were my _best _friend. Do you understand that?" She meets your eyes, words ready on her lips.

"Brooke, I—" but you cut her off.

"No, it's my turn to talk, okay Peyton? You hurt me, badly, but I was willing to put that all in the past to be friends with you again. I risked it all, for you. And then you did the same thing, with the same boy, after everything we'd been through. You broke my heart, Peyton." Your voice cracks, your eyes are filled with tears, but you can't stop. She has to know exactly what she means to you.

"I replay that moment over in my mind, again and again, when Lucas told me you kissed in the library. I can feel my heart breaking each time I think it over, but I can't help it." You wipe hastily at your eyes. "I can live without Lucas; I did it for years before he came along. It's you." Your voice is nearly a whisper, your breathing is difficult, but you keep going. "I can't live without you, Peyton. It's cold where I am, and it's lonely, and it's quiet. And I need you, because you mean more to me than any boy ever could."

There are tears in her eyes now, too, and her face is sad. You step forward, tucking your hair behind your ear. "It's not about Lucas. It was never about Lucas." You're even closer now, you can see how the tears are making her eyelashes stick together in peaks. Her breath whispers past her lips and you can feel it on your cheek. "It's you." You reach tentatively for her fingers, linking your pinky with hers. "It's always been you, P. Sawyer, can't you see?"

She reaches out and brushes a tear away with her finger, the pads brushing your cheekbone softly. Your skin is on fire. "Brooke…" she whispers softly, tugging you closer by the pinky. You're so close, you can feel the heat of her body, smell the toothpaste, see the individual eyelashes surrounding the eyes you've missed so much. You lean in closer.

"Can't you see?" Your words brush lightly against her lips before your own press gently against them. She doesn't pull away, instead leaning into your kiss, and you're pretty sure you're flying. After forever she pulls back, resting her forehead against yours.

"I can see," she murmurs, sniffing softly and giving you a small smile. "I'm sorry."

Dimples greet her apology before you're pressing yourself into her, nipping at her lips and twisting her hair through your fingers. She moans into your mouth and you grin, finally feeling warmth after so many long weeks of solitude.

She's your P. Sawyer and you're her B. Davis, and you don't think anything has ever sounded so beautiful.

* * *

_endscene._

_ah stress. this is my first attempt at One Tree Hill, and Breyton (and any slash pairing, for that matter). Let me know what you think, preeease.  
__ps the title is a song by Explosions in the Sky._

_love Jasper. _


End file.
